


Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in/Are you aware the state I'm in?

by goldheartedsky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Brutal Murder, Consent is given but everyone is uncomfortable, Established Relationship, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Steve Rogers, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not A Fix-It, Period-Typical Antisemitism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Slurs, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rape Recovery, Steve Rogers Feels, graphic depictions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 02:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18540820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheartedsky/pseuds/goldheartedsky
Summary: “You’ve got some nerve,” he starts, voice angry before his heart slams against his chest at the sight of the crimson bath water framing the younger man. “Steve... what happened?” Bucky watches Steve cup the stained water over his face, scrubbing at the bruises that he should’ve noticed. “Steve?”“What?!”The way he shouts it shakes Bucky to his core. It’s dead and broken and hurt and he wants to smack Steve for talking to him like that. “Where were you?” he repeats more forcefully this time, more as a warning than a question.When Steve comes home bruised and bleeding, he and Bucky struggle to put their relationship back together. They know this is going to be difficult but it becomes harder than either of them could imagine. It only crumbles further when Bucky goes out looking for any kind of revenge he can find.





	Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in/Are you aware the state I'm in?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I didn’t set out to write twelve thousand words of this, but here we are.
> 
> Couple warnings: there is referenced rape (in name only, nothing about the attack is described) and pretty graphic descriptions of the aftermath and injuries from that. The dubious consent is solely because both parties don’t really want to do this but consent is still given.
> 
> There is a lot of blood and gore in this, just as a head’s up!

The door slams open and Steve limps in.

Bucky damn near drops the phone before he slams it on the receiver. He spins around, heart still pounding in his chest as he shouts, “Where the _hell_ were you!? You were supposed to be home at 6 and it’s damn near 10pm! I’ve been callin’ damn near all over Brooklyn tryin’ t’find you!” Steve doesn’t even have the decency to look at him, just hunches his shoulders and storms off toward the bathroom. “Steve, I’m fucking talking to you!”

He barely makes it to the hallway before the door at the end slams shut, the lock clicking.

It makes his blood fucking boil over, unable to contain his frustration anymore. He slams his fist on the door, banging as he shouts, “Open the damn door, right now! I’m not fucking joking!”

There’s no answer other than the water in the tub starting.

He digs through the tool box in the basement before he finds a chisel and begins popping the hinges out. “You’re fuckin’ _dead_ when I get in there,” Bucky grumbles to himself as the middle pin clatters to the floor. “Swear to God, had me worryin’ all night. Don’t give a damn how much I love you.” The second and third pins fall to the hardwood planks as he unseats the door with a loud thud.

Steve doesn’t even look at Bucky when he sets the door against the wall, only drops his forehead on his drawn up, scraped and bloodied knees.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he starts, voice angry before his heart slams against his chest at the sight of the crimson bath water framing the younger man. “Steve... what happened?” Bucky watches Steve cup the stained water over his face, scrubbing at the bruises that he should’ve noticed. “Steve?”

“ _What_?!”

The way he shouts it shakes Bucky to his core. It’s dead and broken and hurt and he wants to smack Steve for talking to him like that. “Where _were_ you?” he repeats more forcefully this time, more as a warning than a question.

Steve curls his shoulders in on himself and bites his split lip hard, fresh blood seeping through his teeth. A broken sob is muffled in his mouth before he looks at the wall, choking, “P-Please just leave m-me alone...” Bucky watches Steve wrap thin arms around thin knees and a spread of bruises on the back of his hip is revealed from the darkness of the water, four perfect fingerprints and the curve of a thumb.

“You need to tell me what happened, _right_ _now_.” He wants to grab Steve, to shake the truth out of him that this didn’t look like every other fight, but he can’t even fucking move. “Steve, _please_.” Pulling Steve’s hand off his leg, Bucky presses his lips to the scrapes on the heel of his palm, as if this vow will be enough to convince him.

It’s quiet for a minute, the steam rising from the burning water before Steve finally whispers, “Mitch Clement.”

Bucky knew exactly who Steve was talking about. Mitch had been on his track and baseball teams growing up and Bucky liked him about as far as he could throw him. He had always picked on Steve and spit on Bucky whenever he would step in between them. Would always go on about how he needed better taste in friends. They both worked together at the docks but he always steered clear of him. Imagine what Mitch would think if he found out how he and Steve loved behind closed doors. 

“What did he do?” he growls.

Steve finally looks at him indignantly and Bucky’s heart breaks in ten thousand places. His defiant eyes are bloodshot from all the crying he’s done, framed by the bruises on each cheek and the bridge of his nose. His chin quivers as he sets his jaw, unable to stop shaking as he stammers, “B-Buck... I c-can’t.”

The question answers itself when he looks over at the younger man’s clothes. Blood on neckline and sleeves, on waistbands and knees and underwear. Steve’s blood that makes his own run cold. A livid breath punches out of his lungs as he whispers, “I’m going to fucking _kill_ him.”

The water splashes as Steve grabs at his shirt collar, pulling him towards the bath. “Please don’t go,” he demands, trying to put on a brave face. “I made it back home, I’m alive, so don’t you dare go leaving me here alone.”

Bucky pulls Steve’s head to rest underneath his chin, wrapping a hand around his head and body to protect him. “I should’ve been there,” he says, gritting his teeth when he sees a bite mark cut into the younger man’s shoulder. “I should’ve been there to fucking smash his skull in the moment he touched you.” Steve sniffs quietly but doesn’t try and ease the pain for either of them, only fueling his guilt. He can’t help the way he tangles his fingers through the other boy’s blond hair as he chokes out, “I’m so sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” Steve whispers. “It’s mine for bein’ what I’m like. Just a big ol’ fucking queer. I deserved this.”

He grabs the younger man around the back of the neck and pulls him out to look him in the eye. “Don’t you dare say that,” he snarls as he shakes him a little too roughly, the anger in his blood lashing out at anything it could get its hands on. “Don’t you _ever_ fucking say that again.”

“I put up a fight though,” the blond says, eyes dazed and unfocused. “I don’t want you to think I just let it happen. I didn’t go easy.”

The last thread of self restraint snaps somewhere deep inside Bucky’s chest and he can find himself plummet into darkness. He slams his fist into the porcelain and something cracks in his hand and in the exterior of the tub. Steve flinches and he can feel the bile rise in the back of his throat. “Get out of the fucking bath, Stevie,” he snaps, ripping one of the towels off the bar on the wall. “Get out.”

Bucky’s stomach drops when the blond groans quietly as he shifts to his knees, grabbing the towel with shaking hands. “I’m gonna... I’m gonna get it all bloody, Buck,” he whispers, letting it hang over the edge as he sits up on his knees.

“I’ll get us new towels, just get out of the fucking tub.”

The room spins as Steve gingerly climbs out, all of the blooming bruises and scrapes revealed to the humming overhead light. The blood pounds in his head as the younger man slowly dries off, the fabric staining crimson from his elbows and knees. All Bucky wants to do is storm out of the apartment and just choke the life out of Mitch, but that would mean leaving Steve alone, which he can’t bear the thought of.

“Gimme the bandages,” he mutters gruffly, setting his voice hard to keep it steady as Steve wraps the towel around his thin waist. “Need to clean you up.”

Steve hands Bucky the gauze and wraps from the cabinet and sits on the edge of the tub. “You know, you don’t have to take care of me like this,” he says thickly, staring at the wall above Bucky’s head. “This ain’t like all the fights you’ve patched me up from.”

“Shut the hell up, Steve,” Bucky snaps, wrapping the thick bandages around the blond’s knees with trembling hands. “Just shut the hell up for once. You ain’t gotta talk like that.” He ties white fabric around his love’s broken palms and feels the tears bite at his eyes. The knots are sloppy but he can’t get enough control of his body to tie ones like he should.

“Buck?”

He finally finds the courage to look Steve in the eye.

“Promise me you won’t stop touching me because of this?” he whispers brokenly, the fire in his eyes quenched in his pain. “Promise you won’t stop loving me because of what he did?”

It’s all Bucky can take.

He drops his hands from Steve’s and presses the heels to his eyes. His breath hitches as he begs, “Please don’t fucking say that.” A sob tumbles out of his mouth as he feels Steve’s thin fingers combing through his hair. Bucky folds over into the younger man’s feet, groveling, begging for any kind of forgiveness. “Please don’t think that anything could make me leave you.”

They sit in that tired bathroom and mourn the loss of innocence and mourn what can never truly be fixed.

When they finally lay down in the bedroom, Bucky can’t help but curl his entire body around Steve like he’s the protective shell that is going to shield them both from the world. They don’t bother with underwear, don’t bother with undershirts, just bare skin to bare skin. He presses his forehead against the bandage on the blond’s shoulder and the bite mark underneath it. The more he thinks about it, about what Mitch Clement has done to Steve, his Steve, he can’t find anything good about life. Darkness has swallowed both of them up with no hope of light.

His hands tighten around Steve’s wrists and his blood boils again when the younger man shivers against him. Mitch would pay. Mitch would pay for what he did.

~~~

The sun rises ruby red and Bucky calls out of both of their jobs without waking Steve.

It’s damn near noon by the time Steve stiffly pushes himself up in bed. Bucky watches him wince at the change in position and clenches the cup of coffee more soundly in his hands. “I made you—” Bucky starts, voice failing as he holds the mug out. “Made you this.”

The bruises have spread to the outer corners underneath Steve’s eyes, masking his face in a deep violet. “Need... sleep...” he wheezes quietly, like the sheer exhaustion of his existence might send him over. Steve looks out the window at the high sun desperately. “My job...” He tries to climb out of bed, but his knees give out and he collapses on the floor before Bucky can catch him.

The coffee cup clinks on the floor and spills as Bucky drops it, falling to his knees to grab Steve. “I called us both off,” he says, picking the younger man up off the floor and back into bed. He wipes the sweat off Steve’s forehead and tucks the blankets up over his trembling body. “You’re in no shape to be going out,” he snaps, voice a little too harsh for the situation.

Steve shifts in bed and groans slightly, mumbling, “Hurts, Buck... everything hurts...”

“Tell me what I can do to make this better, tell me how to fix this,” Bucky pleads, burying his face in the blankets as his cheeks burn red. “I have to be able to do _something_.”

It seems like an eternity before Steve looks at him. His face is worn and numb, like butter spread over too much bread, and his voice is painfully calm as he says, “I need you to touch me... I need to remember what your hands feels like on my skin... because all I can feel is his.”

Bucky’s heart stops dead in his chest. His head snaps up, wet eyes wide as he stammers, “I’m g-gonna hurt you. I c-can’t.” He digs his nails into his palms hard enough that he thinks he might draw blood as his breath hitches in his chest. “Steve, p-please.” The room feels like it’s closing in on him; he feels like he’s two feet tall. Bucky’s sure that his lungs are going to shrivel up in his chest due to lack of oxygen until the younger man lays a heavy hand on his head, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I need you to do this.”

Every bone, every muscle in his body screams at him as he climbs on top of the bed. Something in his mind whispers that he’s no better than Mitch as he shoves the blanket and sheet down over Steve’s body. Bucky’s stomach flips at all of the bruised skin underneath him and he ghosts his hand over the largest one under the right side of the blond’s ribs. “If you need me to stop, you better fucking tell me. I don’t want you acting brave, you understand me?”

Steve nods hesitantly, struggling to keep his eyes open as he curls his bandaged hands into fists at his side.

All Bucky can hear is the pounding blood through his ears as he gently touches the other man’s stomach. Steve flinches, and he can feel muscles tighten under the skin under his fingertips, but he reminds himself that this is what was wanted, what was needed. 

Leaning down, he presses his open mouth to the younger man’s collarbone and carefully slides one of his legs between Steve’s. “I’m always gonna be here,” he mumbles agains black and blue skin. “I ain’t ever going to leave you.” He bites back tears when Steve shakes underneath him.

His body is so stiff, so painfully stiff that Bucky feels like he’s on top of a wax doll. He can hear the other man’s breath coming hard and fast through his nose as Bucky carefully presses his palm to Steve’s soft cock. The blond whimpers low in the back of his throat but doesn’t try and move away. Just stares at the ceiling like doing so is the only thing keeping his mind tethered in his body.

‘ _Just tell me to stop. Please just tell me to stop_.’ The mantra repeats itself over and over again as Bucky gingerly wraps his fingers around his prick, the pliable weight of it heavy in his hand. He strokes loosely, thumb running over the slit at the tip as he does his best to get his love worked up. He has to do this often, when Steve’s body doesn’t want to agree with him, but this ain’t like other times because nothing happens, nothing grows except the pit of guilt in his stomach. 

“It’s okay,” Steve grits through clenched teeth as he tries to quell the shaking. “I’m fine.”

He’s not and Bucky _knows_ he’s not because neither of them are, but he can’t bring himself to fight about it, or even fight about anything at all.

Grabbing the Vaseline from between the bed and the wall, his face falls when Steve shuts his eyes tight, brows twisting as he forces his legs open a little more. Bucky pulls his hand back and sits on his calves. “I can’t do this, Stevie. I know you don’t want me to, and I don’t want to either.”

“ _Please_.” Steve’s voice is small and broken, barely audible as he turns his face to the wall. He opens his mouth again but all that falls out is a hitched sob. 

This was it. Either Bucky did this or he would lose Steve, either to drink or a bridge or just the all encompassing darkness that festered in them both. And he loves Steve too much to let that happen, so he slicks his trembling fingers and presses one against the blond’s swollen hole.

Half of him expects Steve to cry, half expects him to arch away from his touch, but he doesn’t. He just turns his face back to the ceiling and keeps his body perfectly still.

Bucky concentrates on going as slow as possible, pushing his finger in centimeter by centimeter until it slips past the bruised ring of muscle. His eyes fill with tears as he looks at Steve and hears him groan softly in pain. The younger man’s face is tight with distress, teeth digging into his healing lip as his chest expands and collapses wildly. “K-Keep g-g-going,” Steve chokes, tightening his grip on his bandages hard enough to tear the backs.

Sucking in a deep breath, Bucky finally pushes his index finger all the way in and drops his forehead to the blond’s racing heart. “I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry, Steve.” He moves his finger in and out, curling it more gently than he usually does, anything to keep this from going straight to hell.

But Steve’s eyes still open wide in pain as he lets a whimper knock its way through his teeth. His eyes look so artificially blue against his blown pupils and bloodshot whites that Bucky wonders if this is all a painful joke being played; Steve has just been replaced and it’s not really him. But it’s undeniably Steve that wraps a hand around the back of his neck and stutters, “M-More. K-K-Kiss m-me.”

And suddenly, Bucky can’t hold the tears back anymore.

They flow freely down his face as he presses his mouth to the other man’s, both their lips closed and drawn thin. It’s not a kiss, even if he wants it to be. But it’s enough to capture the cry that Steve lets out as Bucky works another finger in him.

“Ah—w-wait!” he sobs, every muscle in his thin body going taut. He clenches down around Bucky’s fingers and drops his hands to twist in the bedsheet.

It takes everything in Bucky’s power to keep himself from throwing up. He tries to pull his fingers out but Steve grabs his hand quickly to keep it in place. “I t-told you not to act b-brave for me,” he chokes, voice shaking as badly as both of their bodies are. “God, Stevie, I fucking t-told you.”

It feels like a hand around his throat when Steve wipes his eyes with his forearm and stares at the peeling paint on the wall. “P-Please just f-fuck me like you used to,” he whispers, tears pooling in the inner corner of his eye. The younger man’s voice is so deadened and unflinching, save the stammer, that it almost sounds like a recording. “P-Please show me you still w-want me.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Bucky laments, pulling Steve’s hand off his own and pressing it to his flaccid cock. He buries his tearstained face in the shorter man’s side when Steve begins to sob loudly, the world dropping out from underneath them.

They don’t look at each other as he finally builds the courage continue moving his fingers inside of the blond. After almost an hour, when he rips an orgasm from Steve, it comes weakly and painfully. Both of their faces are stained with tears as his limp prick twitches weakly, bruised balls pulling up to his body. Bucky pulls his fingers free and tries not to notice the blood on the sheets as he wipes them clean.

There’s a single moment of peace until Steve grabs for the trash can by the side of the bed. He barely gets to it before his stomach empties itself violently. He retches and coughs as he throws up four times—Bucky counts.

“I’m s-sorry.”

Steve whispers it so quietly that he barely hears it. Bucky’s sitting at the foot of the bed, head in his hands. He inhales shakily and says, “You don’t have a _damn_ thing to be sorry about, _understand_?”

They exist in silence until the sun begins to drop behind the buildings.

~~~

“I’m going out.”

Steve looks up at him from the chair by the fire, blankets wrapped around his thin frame as he clutches a bowl of broth. It’s all they have and it’s all he can keep down. “Where are you going?” he croaks quietly, face pale in the low light.

“ _Out_ ,” he growls, grabbing his jacket. 

He pulls the books on the third shelf of their bookcase free and grabs his father’s trench knife that had been passed down on his 18th birthday. He can feel the younger man’s eyes widen as Steve asks, “What are you doing with your father’s knife?”

“I said, I’m going out,” Bucky mutters, sliding the sheath between his jeans and belt, the handle cold against his lower back. Pulling his t-shirt over to hide the knife, he wraps his jacket around his waist and ties the sleeves before looking at Steve fiercely. “I don’t want you moving from that spot,” he snaps, pointing a finger at him. “I’m gonna lock all the doors and you better not open them for anybody. Not the cops, not anyone who comes knocking, not even me, understand? And if I come home and you’re not in that damn chair, so help me God, I’m going to knock you clear sideways.”

The blond shrinks back in the chair and demands, “Where are you going?”

“If I’m not back by sun up, call my folks. Tell them to check at the police stations and hospitals first.”

He goes to the back door and turns the heavy deadbolt lock before returning to find Steve staring at the floor, cheeks wet with tears. “You’re going after Mitch, aren’t you?” he chokes with a stutter. Bucky doesn’t look at him as he grabs his boots and shoves his feet inside. “You’re scaring me, Buck.”

He moves to rise but Bucky jabs a finger at him again. “ _Sit the fuck down_ ,” he snarls darkly. “I told you not to get outta that chair.”

In all of their ten years together, he’s never seen Steve look at him like that. Like he hates the thought of Bucky’s very existence. He’s only twenty years old, but maybe twenty years is enough, because his heart is about to shrivel up and die in his ribs from the glare that’s piercing his soul. 

Steve sets his jaw and sneers up at the older man. “Fine! Just go!” he shouts, heated tears in his eyes. Bucky snatches the keys off the coffee table and wrenches the front door open. “But if you get yourself killed, I’m never gonna forgive you for it!”

Ducking through the doorway and slamming it shut, Bucky mutters under his breath, “I ain’t asking for forgiveness.”

It’s late and the city is bustling when he gets to the docks. He manages to catch Fred Olsen half a block away, the last of their group. Fred grins widely and slaps him on the shoulder. “Don’t look like you’re too sick, eh Barnes?”

“My better half was laid out sick last night,” he says, forcing a thin grin. “Had to play nurse.”

“Hope she gets better soon,” Fred says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “All the fellas still want to meet her. What’re you doing out here though?”

“I think Mitch Clement might’ve picked up my bag last night by mistake,” Bucky says, scratching the back of his head offhandedly. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he lives, do you? I’m trying to track him down.”

“Everybody from Dock 4 is at Carlyle’s, celebratin’ Jacky Miller getting engaged; old man finally popped the question. Mitch should be there.” Fred hooks a thumb toward Bay Ridge and says, “I would go, but I wanna see my little ones before they have to go down. Give my best to your sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says as they part ways, “I’ll do that.”

Carlyle’s is the bar closest to the docks and it’s a short walk to the commotion. The men he works with are already hammered enough for him to sneak in unnoticed, dropping down at a table in a dimly lit corner.

It takes a couple minutes for him to spot Mitch but, when he does, Bucky’s fists curl against his thighs. The other man is sporting a black eye and scratch marks down the side of his neck. Steve wasn’t a liar, but now he has physical proof, right in front of his very eyes, of what happened last night. And Mitch, the scum that he is, has the nerve to laugh with two of the other men and say, “You think I look bad? Should see the bitch that marked me up. Was a wild one, I tell ya.” The laughter grates Bucky’s ears and makes his jaw clench enough to grind his teeth together.

He watches Mitch down the rest of his beer and stumble to the bathroom, Bucky getting up quietly and following him along the wall, still unrecognized.

There’s a disheveled man that Bucky doesn’t recognize from the docks washing his hands, and he joins him at the other sink. When the man leaves, he locks the door and draws the knife from the sheath, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

He thinks of Steve back at home and realizes he left without saying, “ _I_ _love_ _you_.”

The stall door opens and Mitch freezes when he sees him. “B-Barnes...” he chokes, eyes going wide as he backs up against the wall. His eyes flick to the knife in Bucky’s hand and the color drains out of his face. “W-What are you d-doing here?”

Bucky can’t put a single thought together in his brain other than the one that tells him to wrap his hand around Mitch’s throat. It’s the one that tells him to press the blade of the knife to the older man’s jugular and dig metal into flesh. “I know what you did to Steve, Mitch,” he heaves, voice past the edge of hysteria as he tightens his grip. “Thought you could do whatever you want, but now you’ve got me to deal with, and me and you? Me and you are gonna go back to the docks and I’m going to show you what hell really feels like.”

Mitch tries shove him away, but freezes when the knife cuts shallowly into his skin, his upper lip curling as he says, “You don’t have the balls to use daddy’s knife on me.”

He pulls the knife away and steps back, waving the tip up and down the older man’s from. “There ain’t a whole lot I’m not prepared to do,” he says, voice low but a little too wild. “We’re going to go out there and you’re gonna say you have to go. Understand?”

Bucky grips the knife tighter as the taller man nods stiffly, the muscles in his shoulders tight as he pushes past and grabs the door handle.

Nobody notices him push through the crowd, blade down at his side, following close behind Mitch as he grabs his jacket and mutters some tight goodbyes. The October air is cool on Bucky’s bare arms, but his adrenaline is flowing too high for him to really feel it, so he rolls his sleeves one more turn as they turn down into the docks.

It was quiet, everyone gone except for the lapping waves against the pillars.

Mitch turns around with a smirk, sneering, “Whatcha gonna do, Jimmy? Gonna—”

His voice is cut off as Bucky lands a blow to the older man’s jaw, fingers curled through the rings of the brass knuckle handle of the knife. Mitch stumbles back, holding his face as blood pours in a thin line down his chin. He had a good two or three inches on Bucky, but Bucky had been boxing since he was a kid. So he fixes his stance and says, “You’re gonna tell me what you did to Steve. And then I’m going to make sure you can’t do it again.”

There’s a flicker of fear in the other man’s eyes but the cocksure grin masks it. “Sure you are, Jimmy,” he laughs, putting his fists up.

It’s a fair fight. At least for a while.

He lands a dozen or so blows to the older man, knocking one of Mitch’s teeth out and splitting the skin of his left temple. Bucky manages to bring him down to his knees with a solid right hook, pinning one of his arms behind his back as he puts the taller man into a chokehold. He tightens his grip when Mitch tries to break free. “I want you to admit what you did to him!” he shouts, voice echoing against the brick buildings. “I want you to fucking say it out loud!”

Mitch struggles to swallow against his arm and wheezes loudly. “I raped him,” he chokes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Say it so I can hear you!” Bucky barks, angry tears flooding to his eyes. “Say it!”

“I _raped_ him!”

The words hit harder than any punch. His arms fall to his side and Mitch crawls away, panting and coughing. It feels like he can’t even breathe as the knife slips from his hand and he swallows a mouthful of blood. “Why?”

The answer doesn’t come, but a fist does, connecting straight on Bucky’s nose. He can feel something crack as his vision blacks out for a second. He finds himself staring up at the stars, a weight on his chest and arm. Mitch is straddling his stomach, trapping one of Bucky’s arms under his leg, the other pinned by his head. “Because I could. Because he was there,” he growls. “Because I knew what he was.”

“You don’t know anything!” Bucky snaps, trying to get a grip with his feet to buck the older man off him. “You didn’t even know I’m just like him.”

His vision blacks out again as his head slams back against the dock and somewhere far away he hears Mitch laugh, “God help me, Jimmy Barnes is a homosexual. That’s the funniest shit I ever heard in my life.” 

As Bucky tries to worm his way out, he earns another punch to the face. The pain radiates through is nose and cheekbones, blood pouring down into the back of his throat. He feels it in his eye sockets and down through his jaw and teeth as he coughs, “I ain’t afraid’a you, and I won’t let you hurt the man I love again.”

Saliva covers his face, droplets hitting his skin as Mitch spits on him. He sneers down and mocks, “Fucking queer. Can’t wait to tell all the guys that you like little Stevie Rogers to stick it up your ass. Bet you moan like a fucking bitch, I know your little boyfriend did.”

Bucky’s vision goes fuzzy as the older man smashes his skull against the wooden planks again, the moon and stars spinning above him. His hair feels damp at the back of his head and he wonders if his scalp has split. “You better finish it, you bastard,” he snarls, struggling against the grip Mitch has him in. His head goes down again and it knocks the breath out of him. “Because... if you don’t—”

“Oh, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t be putting up much of a fight,” the other man laughs, Bucky’s heart racing in his chest. “And maybe once you’re out of the picture, I can go visit your little fairy boyfriend any time I want. Teach him what a real man feels like.”

“ _No_!” he screams, bucking and kicking and thrashing underneath the taller man, his stomach bottoming out. “Leave him _alone_!”

Bucky manages to free his arm trapped under the other man’s leg as Mitch laughs at him, and fumbles for the knife that’s just out of reach. The tips of his fingers brush the handle, reaching for the rings as Mitch tightens his grip. _He is going to hurt Steve again. God, come on, come on, you have to escape_ , Bucky thinks. And then his weight shifts and Bucky closes that half inch gap and twists the brass knuckle handle into his fingers and brings it to the fight.

“I’ll teach that faggot how to take a pri—”

The knife slips in between the man’s ribs before Bucky even realizes what’s happening.

Blood floods down the knife and his hand as Mitch makes a choked gasp like all the air is driven out of him. His hand drops from Bucky’s hair and they both look at the knife in his chest as the blood pumps out. “Wha—you—” He tries to climb off, the knife pulling out of his body, but just falls with a low thud.

“Mitch?” Bucky chokes as he rolls over. The knife is slippery in his hands as he turns the older man onto his back.

It slips from his fingers and clatters to the wooden planks underneath them as Mitch begins to convulse. Blood bubbles up between his lips as he futilely gasps for air, hands scrabbling against Bucky’s. His eyes are wide in fear and he gargles weakly as the color begins to drain out of his face.

“F-Fuck,” Bucky stammers, pressing his shaking palms over the wound in an effort to ebb the blood flow. But it doesn’t work, the crimson liquid flowing over his arms and hands. This isn’t what he set out to do. He was only trying to scare Mitch, he was only trying to—

Mitch’s hands go limp, falling to his sides as his body stills.

Blood continues to pulse weakly for a couple seconds, pooling underneath them and staining the world red, until it finally slows to a slow stream under his hands as the older man’s chest stops rising.

“No...” he chokes, grabbing the collar of the older man’s shirt and shaking his limp body. “No, you c-can’t be dead! W-Wake up, you f-fucking asshole!” But Mitch doesn’t; his head flops back with a sickening crack, his half lidded eyes unmoving. All Bucky can hear is the blood roaring through his ears and his own shuddering breath coming hard through his nose.

This was the end of his life as he knew it.

His hands shake so badly that he can’t keep a grip on the fabric and the older man’s body falls back with a thud. All of the lights around him spin as he scrambles away from the body, tumbling backwards on the planks. “Oh God, what h-have I d-done?” he sobs, looking around on a panic.

Wiping the dripping blood from his nose with his sleeve, Bucky feels his stomach abandon him and can barely turn over before he heaves. The bile and blood burns his esophagus as he gags and chokes, nails digging into the wood. He feels one of them chip halfway down the nail-bed, blood burning to the tip of his ring finger to mask the old drying on his skin. But it doesn’t burn as hot as the tears that flood over his eyes as Bucky screams into the silence of the docks.

Steve could never love him after this. No one could.

His throat feels raw as he swallows thickly, trying to figure out what to do next. He tries to calm his breathing when he spots a scrap beam and some chain, but the thought of what he’s about to do just makes his mind spiral more out of control.

What has he done? What will his parents say? Will Steve even look at him?

It feels like an out of body experience as he crawls to the chains, dragging them and the five foot I-beam. It has to be close to two hundred pounds and it takes almost fifteen minutes to drag it over to the body, every muscle refusing to cooperate. His legs shake and his hands struggle to keep a grip on the beam but he finally gets it close enough to roll Mitch next to the metal bar.

Bucky nearly dislocates a finger when he gets it caught in the chain and breaks at least two of his toes when he drops the beam on his foot trying to get underneath it. His hair and shirt are soaked and matted to his skin with sweat but he’s shaking like it’s twenty degrees outside.

But all he can think about is getting rid of the body.

More blood spills out of the hole in Mitch’s chest when Bucky tightens the chains and ties them together as best he can. The older man’s body is strapped haphazardly to the I-beam, arms and legs twisted in the chain. When Bucky tried to pull the metal beam, even throwing his full weight into it, he makes it barely half an inch.

“God d-damn it,” he cries, dropping back down to the dock. “F-Fuck, what did I d-do.”

It takes him almost an hour and a half to drag the beam down to the far edge of the dock and by the time he does, his lungs are on fire and his body feels like it’s full of sand. His foot is swollen in his boot to the point that any motion sends knives up his leg. There’s a drying trail of blood down the 30 odd feet from where he had stabbed Mitch and it feels like it’s tethering them both down.

He knows from experience how deep the water is. A year ago, he had slipped off a rigging, knocking his head on the side of the hull, and woke up 40 feet down at the bottom of the East River. Steve had nearly killed him for not being safe enough with himself, but it’s a familiar thing: sinking a body in the dark water.

“God forgive me.”

Digging his fingers underneath the bottom of the beam, Bucky uses the last of his strength to tip it over the edge and into the water. 

The loud splash echoes across the water as the metal sinks to the bottom of the river, Mitch’s body disappearing into the darkness as Bucky sinks to his knees. His arms hang limply from his shoulders as harsh sobs wracks his body. They come and come and come, washing over him until he can’t breathe anymore, gasping for air like he’s the one underwater.

He might as well jump in too, might as well sink himself down and stop the darkness from spreading from the gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. God, he just wants to die rather than facing the thought of Steve finding out what he’s done.

Bucky wishes his body would just go numb, anything to dull the pain, but all he can feel is the adrenaline dying away and the ache setting in. His nose, his shoulders, his back, his foot, everything. Everything hurts and he wonders if this is how Steve feels. If he could’ve taken even a single piece of the pain, he would’ve, so he had to find his own.

God, what has he done?

Dipping his trembling hands into the water, he scrubs the dried blood off his skin as best he can, but knows there’s nothing that can hide the stains on his shirt and pants. There was no possibility of getting home without being stopped, but he had to try and get home to Steve, one last time.

He gets to his feet and hisses when he puts weight on his injured foot. The swelling has started moving up his ankle and his leg shakes any time he has to shift to that side. But he grabs the knife anyway and heads back toward home, limping heavily as he goes.

One couple crosses the street when they see him lumber towards them, five blocks from the docks, and his heart stops all together when a floodlight suddenly illuminates him from behind as he gets a mile from home.

“Sir, I’d like you to stop, please,” the officer says, pulling the car up behind him.

Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets and stops on the sidewalk, curling his shoulders up around himself. The officer exits the green and white car and shines a flashlight in his face. He swallows thickly and asks, “Is there a problem, officer?”

The officer looks him up and down, taking in the blood and his broken nose and bruises. “You look like you’ve been getting into trouble. I think you better explain yourself.”

Wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand, Bucky mutters, “I was out gettin’ my girl some medicine, she’s sick you see, and some guys jumped me and stole all my money. Thought they were gonna kill me, but I managed to fight them off.” He accidentally shifts to his injured foot and winces.

“You get a good look at these men?”

He looks at the ground and shakes his head. “It was too dark. Couldn’t make out what they looked like. I just wanna get home to my sweetheart, sir.”

The officer shines the flashlight in his eyes as Bucky looks up at him anxiously and he knows how he must look—covered in blood and sweat and shaking like he’s going to the electric chair. He sucks in a shallow breath and closes his eyes tight when the officer reaches for his gun and wishes he had told Steve he loved him.

“Here, son, for your nose.”

He blinks his eyes open and looks at the handkerchief held out in front of him. Taking it with trembling hands, Bucky mutters, “Thanks, sir.”

“Would you like a ride home?” the officer asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Saw you limping and you look like you’re about to fall over right here. Hop in and I can drop you off at home.” He can’t say no. He knows what it’ll look like if he says no, so he just nods and limps around to the side of the vehicle and slides into the front seat. The drivers side door slams and Bucky can’t help but jump in the seat. He dabs at his still bleeding nose as the officer sits down and says, “They did a real number on you, kid. Let’s get you home.”

“I’m at 266 Garfield Pl, out in Park Slope. Right next to Beth Elohim.”

“You’re not one of those kikes, are you?” the man says, looking at Bucky with a raised eyebrow.

“No sir, I’m not,” Bucky says, the lie falling out of his mouth easily. He’s come this far, what’s another crack at the truth? “Raised Catholic, baptized at St. Francis Xavier,” he says, repeating Steve’s upbringing. “I can even say a Hail Mary if you want.”

“My mother was baptized at St. Francis. Good church.” The officer slaps him on the back and he can feel his stomach flip again, swallowing down the stomach acid that floods the back of his throat. All Bucky wants is to wake up from this terrible nightmare and have Steve back at his side again.

The officer tries to make small talk and he tries to do his best, but just ends up grunting and shaking his head in response until they pull up in front of the building.

“Try to keep yourself out of trouble and get your foot looked at in the morning, ya hear me?” the officer says as Bucky eases himself out of the car. “Hope your girl gets better as well. You both keep your chins up!”

He nods shakily, finally able to breathe again once the car pulls off into the darkness of the street. The silence hits him straight in the gut and the sob that falls out is less of a cry and more of a breathless gasp. The ones that follow feel like ropes around his neck, cutting off his oxygen as he grabs the handrail for the front stairs. Gagging in between his strangled cries, Bucky staggers up the steps and into the safety of the building.

He can barely see the stairs through the pain and his tears and manages to climb up 16 before everything whites out and he passes out on the third floor landing.

~~~

It’s almost sun up when he finally comes to again.

The sky is a dark blue through the window in the landing, just the hint of light bleeding from the horizon. There’s vomit and a blood stain on the carpet where his face was as Bucky pushes himself up on shaking arms, and he has no idea why his nose won’t stop bleeding. “Steve...” he croaks, crawling up the last steps. “Steve...”

Everything spins again when he pulls himself up on the door handle, fumbling in his pocket for the key. When he finally turns the lock and handle, it takes everything to keep from ending up on the floor again.

“Bucky?”

He watches Steve spin in double as he peels his shirt off and tosses it in the fire. “‘m fine, Stevie...” he mumbles, pulling the knife out of the back of his pants and drops it on the floor. “‘m fine.”

“Bucky look at me,” the younger man says, voice laced with fear as Bucky strips down to his underwear, his pants being consumed by the flames as well. “Buck, _look_ _at_ _me_!”

He finally looks at Steve, the tears flowing easily as he begs, “Please forgive me, Steve. I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean to.” He sinks to the floor and pulls at his boots, revealing his injured foot, swollen to nearly twice its size in his sock. “I didn’t mean to—”

The blanket falls to the floor as Steve drops it and kneels down in front of him. “Where are you bleeding? There’s so much blood,” he gasps, pulling at Bucky’s undershirt. He pushes it up to the older man’s armpits and runs his hands over the uncut skin. “You’re not... you’re not hurt. Why is there so much _blood_?!” he demands, grabbing his face.

“I k-killed him,” Bucky chokes, eyes dazed and unsteady. “I k-killed Mitch.”

Steve pulls his hands away like he’s been burned. “What did you do?”

“I made him admit what he did. Started hitting him,” he say numbly. “He broke my nose. He spit in my face and called me a queer. He had me pinned down and said he would hurt you again once he was done with me. I got a hold of the knife and I—I wasn’t—wasn’t thinking.” He hangs his head and a sob hitches in his chest, dry and hoarse and heavy in his lungs. “God, Steve, what have I done?”

“Did you—where is he? What happened to your leg?” Steve’s asking him questions a mile a minute but still won’t touch him, and Bucky feels like he’s going to pass out again.

“I tied him to an I-beam. Dropped the damn thing on my foot. Sunk him in the East River.”

It goes quiet, save their heavy breathing and the crackling fire.

The blond goes to work, silently peeling Bucky’s sock off his swollen foot to reveal a mass of black and purple skin. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look him in the eye as he disappears into the bathroom and returns with a hot pail of water. Setting it at the feet of the chair, Steve averts his eyes and says, “Epsom soak, for your foot. Get in the chair.”

But Bucky can’t. He can’t even move as the heartbreak finally pours over him and he buries his face in his hands and cries like a child. The sobs wrack his body like waves and he knows how ridiculous he must look, bent over on the floor and blubbering like a babe, broken foot stuck straight out like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “D-Don’t hate m-me, S-Stevie,” he bawls, his tears soaking his palms and wrists. “D-Don’t l-l-leave m-me.”

“I—”

Steve’s voice falters into silence and Bucky just wants to grab the knife at his side and shove it through his own heart. Spill his own blood over the floorboards and let it sink into the apartments below. Anything to keep from losing the man he loves.

“Did you kill him because he called you a queer or because he said he would rape me again?”

He looks up at the younger man, Steve’s face fuzzy through his tears. His eyes were cast down, fists clenched in his lap as he knelt on the floor, and Bucky thinks he looks like he’s praying. Maybe he should. Maybe Steve should pray for both of their souls.

“Don’t you lie to me,” Steve whispers again, the bruises across his face darkening his eyes as they tip up to meet Bucky’s. “I need to know the truth.”

Gulping down air, he shakes his head and feels the trickle of blood fall into his mouth. All he can taste is copper. All he can feel is the overwhelming urge to end his pathetic life. “Don’t give a damn... what he said about me,” Bucky chokes, breath still coming in triple. “But he started—t-talking about what he would do—and I couldn’t... couldn’t let it happen again. Not again.”

Touching the back of his head, his fingers come back slick with red. 

He feels lightheaded, like he’s in the midst of a fever dream, and the gentle hand Steve puts on his cheek only exacerbates the haze. He fights off the urge to be sick as the blond whispers, “Thank you.”

Bucky opens his mouth in confusion but all that spills out is dark red vomit, covering the front of his shirt and hands. He struggles to keep his eyelids open as he turns between the pool on the floor and Steve. “Need... need a...” he slurs, his body suddenly feeling very heavy. “Doctor... need a...” He tips forward and everything goes dark.

It’s light again when he opens his eyes again. He’s still facedown on the floor, unmoved from where he collapsed. His nose and cheeks still feel swollen but the throbbing has gone. The window is spilling bright sunshine as it spins around his vision and his head feels like he’s been hit with a sledgehammer.

“St... Steve?”

His mouth is dry and tastes like he’s got a copper penny stuck underneath his tongue. He curls a hand around the blanket draped over him and notices the bandage around his finger where he cracked his nail in half. His skin is cleaner than he remembers it being and wonders if Steve had scrubbed him down and just left.

The apartment is so quiet that Bucky wonders if he’s truly and painfully alone until a quiet, “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again.”

He tips his eyes to Steve’s slight frame in the doorway to the kitchen and pushes himself up on an elbow. “Water...” he croaks, reaching an unsteady hand out. “Pl... Please...” Steve disappears and reappears, a glass of cool water in his bandaged hand. He kneels gingerly beside Bucky and tips the cup into his mouth. Drinking thirstily, Bucky only pulls away to cough weakly. He closes his eyes and rests his head on Steve’s bare, bruised thighs. “I’m sorry...” he says, voice still raspy. “Please forgive me...”

His eyes burn like he’s going to cry when Steve combs a careful hand through his hair, but the tears never come. “I thought you were dying,” the younger man says, and his voice is stretched thin and strained. “You threw up so much blood and just collapsed. I couldn’t even call the doctor because the police could come, Buck, and you killed someone. And after—” His hand stills. “After what happened to me, God, what could I do?”

“I’m so sor—”

“No, you don’t _get_ to talk,” Steve says, tightening his fingers on the tender strands. Bucky hisses under him, feeling what is likely stitches pulling at the back of his scalp. “I would’a killed myself if you hadn’t started breathing again. You’re all I got left and I almost lost you because you were too damn _stupid_ to think.”

Bucky pushes himself up on his hands and shifts his wrapped leg in front of him. His face is level with Steve’s as he slumps his shoulders. “He _raped_ you, Steve. I couldn’t just—”

“I needed you _here_  and you _left_. Did you even stop to think what I felt like when you were out there? No! Because you never think of anyone but yourself!” he shouts, voice too broken to be hysterical.”

Bucky feels dizzy again as he grabs at one of Steve’s bandaged hands and buries his face in it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” he begs, the mantra tumbling out like a vow. Is this what the rest of their lives? Him apologizing for something he never meant to do while the wall between them goes up brick by brick.

All he hears is his own ragged breathing until, after almost ten minutes, Steve finally whispers, “God, I’m so tired of this.”

The younger man pulls his hand out of Bucky’s grasp and stiffly rises to his feet. The breath punches out of him as he watches Steve walk away from him. He’s known Steve damn near his whole life, loved him since he knew what love was, kissed him from the moment he could. And now it was all over.

God had abandoned him.

Everyone had.

“Are you coming?”

It takes a second to register what is said. He blinks up at Steve, body trembling as he chokes, “ _What_?”

Crossing his arms over his thin frame, Steve sighs quietly. “Come to bed. I don’t—I don’t want to fight anymore,” he mutters, thumb rubbing over the bruise on his bicep. “The world’s always gonna kick us when we’re down and there’s no use doing it to each other as well.”

Bucky drags himself to the chair and pulls himself to a standing position. “I’m sorry.”

He limps down the hallway, bracing himself on the wall as he follows the blond down to their room. The bed is still stained with smears of blood but Bucky doesn’t care. He doesn’t want Steve to have to clean up after either of them. Dropping down to the bed, he shifts over to the wall and props his injured leg up on the bed frame, hissing at the pressure.

“I had to set your nose and toes,” he says. “After I fixed your nose, the bleeding finally stopped. I think it had been pushing on a vein. Wouldn’t clot. You were just bleeding and bleeding and bleeding.” Steve turns his face to rest his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “You scared the hell outta me.”

“I was just tryin to—”

“I know what you were tryin to do.” It’s forced and hollow like he still hasn’t quite forgiven Bucky, and it tightens his chest. Bucky stares at the ceiling like it’s going to fall in on both of them; he’s almost hoping it does so they can be found together like this instead of always having to hide in their pain. “I know what it’s like to be so angry at the world that all you wanna do is find a fight. I got like that after my ma died.”

“Will it always be like this?” he says hoarsely as the younger man laces their fingers together. “I don’t want to keep living if this is what living’s gonna be like.”

“If it is, at least we’re in this hell together.”

~~~

Bucky feels like he’s living in a haze. Everything feels numb, feels like he’s watching it outside his own body as he moves through the next two weeks. The swelling on his face goes down but his foot still looks like hell. He loses his job at the docks but he didn’t want to go back anyway. Steve goes back to work at the grocery store and doesn’t acknowledge his pleas to carry a knife with him.

He goes home to his parents house and cries on the floor of the bathroom for twenty minutes before his family gets home from Shabbat service.

They had offered to take him, but Bucky can’t bring himself to face God like this.

He’s sitting in his father’s armchair, a switch worthy offense growing up, and barely registers the front door opening. There’s low murmuring voices and Bucky just stares at the crack in the plaster wall in front of him. “James, we’re home!” his mother calls before she and his sisters disappear down the hall. He sucks in a shallow breath and wonders when he forgot how to breathe. Was it ten minutes ago? Was it two days ago? Was it when the knife went straight through Mitch’s lungs and into his heart?

He damn near jumps out of his skin when a hand claps down on his shoulder.

He knows he starts shaking again, knows his shoulders tighten and his breath hitches, and there’s no way he can look his father in the eye. “James? Y’alright there, son?”

“Yeah, _Abba_ , I’m fine,” he gurgles, like he’s underwater, like he’s drowning.

His father crouches in front of him but Bucky looks straight through him. Just stares at the wall and the crack and the plaster and the paint. His heart beats hard and fast in his chest as he can’t stop the numb tear that falls down his cheek, paralyzed by fear. His father studies his face carefully and grabs his chin to keep it from trembling. Bucky finally meets his father’s gaze as the older man says, “Get up, we’re going to the park.”

He sits on the front steps with his head in his hands until he hears his father’s sharp footsteps behind him. “You don’t gotta do this, _Abba_ ,” he whispers shakily, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Really, you don’t.”

“Come on, James. Walk with me.”

They wander through the park like they used to do when Bucky was a kid, his crutch slowing them down considerably, circling the lake before they sit on the bench by the war memorial.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“You know, your uncle’s name is on that memorial. Steve’s father as well,” his father says softly as Bucky crosses his arms tightly across his chest, head tucked down. “My name was almost on there as well, back at the Somme. A German soldier had stolen my knife and gotten it stuck in my arm and I was bleeding out in the mud.” He’s heard this story a thousand times but this time is different. There were more details, more blood. “I grabbed my knife, the one I gave you for your birthday, and pulled it out of my own arm. Drove it straight through his head underneath his chin.”

Bucky feels his stomach turn and he clenches his jaw and swallows down stomach acid. “I know you were in the war, _Abba_.”

“I could feel the man’s blood on my hands and face. His body was so heavy that I could barely move him off me.” Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, Bucky can see his father staring blankly through the memorial. His gaze is numb and unmoving and Bucky wonders if this is what he looks like to the rest of the world. “Before I passed out from blood loss, I realized that this boy was younger than me. Killing him seemed to sink into my bones. I don’t think I’ll ever get it out.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with me!” Bucky barks, sounding like a child getting scolded. “ _None_ of this does!”

He can hear his father sigh as he turns away from the older man. “James, that was the first man I ever had to kill. When I was in the medical tent, all I could remember is the noise he made when I stabbed him. How he looked scared as his eyes went blank. I couldn’t eat or sleep, because all I could see was his face.”

“ _Abba_ , I—”

“Whatever trouble you found yourself in, you don’t have to tell me unless you’re ready. But I took one look at your face and felt like I was looking in a mirror,” his father says, shaking his head slightly. “Taking a man’s life is a heavy burden that I hoped you would never have to bear, but I hope you don’t have to bear it alone.”

He can’t stay strong anymore. A breath punches out of his chest as his face crumples in pain, the misery washing over him. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t what he wanted for his life, to have his father see the weakness Bucky couldn’t exorcise from his body, no matter how hard he tried. His father doesn’t try and comfort him, doesn’t try to deny his hurt, because they both know that there is no fix for this.

He only places a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder and allows the sadness to flow.

It feels like hours before Bucky’s tears seem to ebb and he finds the strength to wipe his face with the sleeve of his shirt. His father has the same calm expression as ever, still staring at the memorial.

“ _A-Abba_?” His voice shakes as he turns to look at the older man. “I need t-to tell you s-something. B-But you c-can’t tell anyone. N-Not even M-Mama.” His father turns to him and Bucky can feel his hand tighten on his shoulder. “P-Promise me you won’t t-turn me in? P-Promise me you won’t h-hate me?”

“James, you’re my son,” his father says, shaking his shoulder. “Nothing you’ve done could make me hate you.”

“ _Abba_ , I’m—I’m g-gay.”

His father’s brow furrows and he moves like he’s going to pull his hand away, even if he doesn’t follow through the motion. “What do you mean, gay? Like you’re homo... homosexual? Do you know what that looks like for our family?”

Bucky nods, the lump in his throat. “I _know_ what it looks like, but I can’t help that I like men. I always have, ever since I can remember, and I prayed for so long for God to fix me and he never has. Part of me thinks that, since I’ve prayed so much and nothing has happened. maybe I’m supposed to be this way.”

“Do you... do you have anyone?” his father asks, like he’s trying to understand all of this. He’s not mad, Bucky’s seen him mad, and this isn’t it. Just confused. “Anyone to be with?”

“Steve. It’s always been Steve.” He looks at the ground and sighs. “We’ve been together since I was seventeen. I didn’t think I’d be able to love anyone, being the way I am, but I love him so much that sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in it. Every damn minute of every damn day, I feel like the shame is so big that I think I’m gonna fall straight through the floor. But _Abba_? When I look at Steve and he smiles at me, it doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.”

His father nods and looks more worried than anything. “Is that the reason this all happened? Because of what you and Steve are?” Bucky nods. “And nobody else knows?”

He shakes his head again. “You’re the only person.” Inhaling shakily, he asks, “You're not gonna turn me in, are you? I don’t want to be put in a mental institution. I’ve heard stories about what they do to guys like me there and I’d rather kill myself before I forget you and Mama and the girls. Forget Steve.” His father’s face is completely unreadable as he studies his son carefully. He lets out a frustrated huff and shouts, “ _Abba_ , say something! Hit me, yell at me, send me away, anything!”

Then suddenly, his father pulls Bucky against his body and tightly wraps his arms around him. “Please just promise me you’re safe, son. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

He buries his face in his father’s shoulder and can feel himself breathe fully for the first time in what feels like his entire life. Like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He sniffs and holds on tight as he says, “I’m safe now.”

They walk back to his and Steve’s apartment talking quietly about what this means. 

“We’re going to have to tell your mother eventually,” his father says. “She’s going to expect you to get married at some point, but if it’s not what you want, I’m not going to force you into it. My parents were going to marry me to another woman but then I met your mother. I understand the need to follow your heart.”

Bucky stops, leaning his weight on the wooden crutch. “You never told me that.”

“It seems there’s a lot we haven’t told each other.”

When they get up to the fourth floor and into the apartment, Steve is busy in the kitchen, stripped down to his pants and undershirt. “Buck? That you?” He lean his head back through the doorway and Bucky can see the confused panic spread across his face as he grabs his shirt off the counter. Nobody was ever allowed in the apartment, in case anyone saw the signs of their partnership—the single bed, the shared set of drawers, everything in close proximity to each other. But Steve plays it off well and buttons his shirt back up as he says, “H-Hey Mr. Barnes. What are—what are you doing here?”

“He knows, Steve,” Bucky says nervously, easing himself into the chair and propping his crutch against the wall. “I told him about us.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he takes a step back. They dart toward the back door, desperately searching for an exit as he puts his shaking hands up. Steve lets out a broken gasp and begs, “Please... sir... don’t call the—”

Bucky’s father puts his hand up and reassures them, “Don’t worry, son, I’m not calling anyone.” He pulls both chairs from the dining table and sits in one, motioning to the other. “Sit. We need to have a serious talk about this.” Steve drops down into the empty one, still visibly shaken, and grabs for Bucky’s hand. George Barnes sighs quietly as they lace their fingers together and asks, “So this is it?”

“Yeah Abba, this is it,” Bucky says, tightening his grip on Steve’s shaking fingers. “This is what it’s like.”

“Okay,” his father says, nodding like he’s trying to process everything. “Okay. Well, then we need to make a plan for you two. Steven, I know you don’t have family left, but James does. He will be obligated to marry and have children to carry on the Barnes family name. His mother expects this.”

Steve’s face falls but he tries to stay brave as he mutters, “I know, sir. I’ve always known it can’t be like this forever.”

“But—”

Bucky squeezes his love’s hand as it shakes in his. “We’re gonna tell my mama, Steve. My father isn’t going to force me to marry someone I don’t love,” he mutters quietly. The younger man turns to him, blue eyes wide in confusion. “It’s going to be okay.”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“We’ve always considered you a son, Steven,” Bucky’s father says, leaning forward to put a hand on the blond’s shoulder. “This doesn’t change that fact. Chanukah begins in one month. We will have you over at our house and we will tell James’s mother about you two. We will swear her to silence just as James swore me to, understand?”

“ _Abba_ , do you really think she’s going to stay quiet about this?” Bucky asks hesitantly. “You know how she talks with the women at _Shul_.”

“If it comes down to your wellbeing,” his father reassures him, “she will do whatever she can to keep you safe. This shouldn’t even be a question to you, James. She loves you more than anything in the world.” His voice is firmer than it usually is and it cuts Bucky to the core.

He nods and hangs his head, shame washing over his face as he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“Your mother and I will provide you with enough money so you don’t lose the apartment while you’re out of work, son. You two have gone through enough without worrying about the possibility of homelessness,” his father says, putting a hand on his knee. “But I need you to swear to me that this can never happen again.”

“Kinda hard to swear to somethin’ that wasn’t our fucking fault, ain’t it, Mr. Barnes?” Steve suddenly snaps, pulling his hand out of Bucky’s. His thin face barely hides the defiance as he sets his jaw and clenches his hands into fists. “I get beat over the head with a pipe and barely make it home, then Bucky almost gets killed too and you wanna come in here talking about how it ‘can’t happen again?’” He stands up defiantly, snarling, “ _Fuck you_.”

“Steve, stop it!” Bucky begs, trying to stand. 

The younger man shoves him back down and points a finger at him. “Now it’s your fucking turn to sit in the chair and shut your mouth.” Steve turns back to Mr. Barnes and curls his hands into fists at his side. “I love your son more than anything in the world and I almost had to watch him die. If you wanna blame that on us bein’ gay, then that’s your choice, but I will not let you come into our house and make Bucky feel like he had any responsibility in this.”

Bucky watches his father stand, a good head higher than Steve, and size the young man up. “Steven, you should watch your tongue. Learn how to be grateful,” his father says, a warning mark spread deep across his voice.”

The blond slams a hand against Mr. Barnes’s chest and shouts, “Get out! Get out of my house! I don’t need your money, Bucky doesn’t need your money, not when you talk to us like that! Get the _hell_ out!” There are furious tears in Steve’s eyes and Bucky’s heart is pounding in his chest. 

His father glances at him and shakes his head. “We will send the money, James,” he says quietly, taking a step back from the two boys, “but I am disappointed in you at how this went.”

He turns and leaves the apartment quietly, nothing but silence to drown out the rushing blood in Bucky’s head. His hands tremble as he stares numbly at the empty chair in front of him where his father once sat. “You...” he chokes, blinking back stinging tears. “You are going to get us thrown in prison.”

“I ain’t gonna apologize for a damn thing,” Steve snaps, hands clenching into fists. “You heard the way he was talking to you!”

“He was trying to help, Stevie,” Bucky whispers brokenly. “He was...fuck, what are we gonna—”

“We’re going to be just fine, like we always are,” the younger man says, tone softening a little as he drops to his knees in front of Bucky. “You’re gonna be fine and I’m gonna be fine, I promise.”

“You think we’re fine?” he chokes, vision blurring as he struggles to keep his mind in his body. “You think I don’t notice that you still freeze up when I try and touch you? You don’t notice the fact that I can barely sleep anymore? I see when you come back from the basement with bloody knuckles. You go down there just to punch the concrete walls until you bleed, don’t you? We’re not fucking fine and you know it.”

Steve sets his jaw and it’s quiet for a moment.

“I can’t control what happened to us, can’t control what we did, but I can control where the blame is placed,” he says, looking up at Bucky, the fire in his eyes burning bright. “It ain’t on me and it sure as hell ain’t on you. It’s only Mitch’s fault and I don’t want you thinking one more minute about it. You hear me?”

Bucky closes his eyes, a tired tear slipping down his cheek. He wants to repeat ‘I’m sorry’ like a mantra until his lungs give out but he knows it would only anger his love further. So he pushes the words back down into his stomach and just nods.

“I love you, you know that, right Buck?”

“I know, Stevie. I love you too.”

~~~

Weeks go by and turn into months as they fall into as normal of a routine as they can.

Bruises fade and his broken bones heal.

Bucky goes to work at a lumber yard out in Flushing and tries to put everything out of his mind until a hand washes up on Brighton Beach. He listens to the newsboys call out the headlines and tries not to throw up in the street.

Steve begins to let him touch his body more and more, relaxing into Bucky’s hands instead of shying away from them.

He still wakes up from nightmares on the rare occasion.

Steve does as well.

But life goes on.

**Author's Note:**

> The knife Bucky has is a [real trench knife from WWI](http://www.usmilitariaforum.com/uploads//monthly_05_2009/post-70-1241664128.jpg)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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